Path of Least Resistance
by atrosie
Summary: Bones has insomnia, and the aftereffects this causes throughout her day.


**Title:** Path of Least Resistance

**Author:** atrosie

**Pairing:** None, really

**Rating:** PG-13 (language)

**Spoilers:** None

**Dedication:** To the real Megan's little boy.

**Disclaimer:** I have no job. You think I can afford a TV show? Also, the title belongs to Modest Mouse.

**Author's Notes:** Really, the only explanation I have for this is my own insomnia.

**Summary:** … you're half-tempted to tell him that you're tired because of mind-blowing sex …

There are nights when the insomnia hits hard enough to make you bleed; when counting sheep isn't going to work and all you can think of is the trial you're testifying at tomorrow. In desperation and annoyance, you contemplate the sleeping pills hidden in the back of the medicine cabinet, but you need to be coherent tomorrow, and those things always knock you for a loop. So you do what you always do in these situations, and next thing you know, you're dressed and hauling your backpack into the local IHOP.

The night waitresses all know you, and when you appear at the register, they smile and nod and wave you in the direction of "your" table; you're here often enough that they don't even bother seating anyone else there. You sit down and break open your laptop, and by the time it's done booting up, there's a cup of hot tea nearby and chocolate chip pancakes are on their way.

You sit there for three or so hours, alternately plotting out your latest novel and chatting with the waitresses. There are three of them, Tammy, Megan and Janie, and you ask about Megan's little boy and Tammy's finals and Janie's latest boyfriend. That girl goes through guys faster than anyone you've ever known. They ask you about work and you give them general answers; you've learned that decomposing bodies and skeletal remains gross them out.

Around five-thirty, you've finished your half-melted sundae and a detailed outline (the editor will be thrilled; she's been on your back for the last month about it), so you pack up your things, say goodbye to the girls, and head home for a hot shower and coffee. You put on makeup and your court suit and fix your hair, and around seven, you leave for the lab.

Paperwork is a never-ending hell, and when Booth arrives at nine, you're grateful for the distraction, even if it means putting up with him and the lawyers and the ever-cynical jury. You finally get called to the witness stand, and you're sworn in and explaining evidence and processes and basic science when the urge to yawn nearly overwhelms you. You fight it back just in time, but Booth's noticed, and he's giving you this look, part cocky grin, part concern, and you know you're gonna hear about it later. You almost wish you'd taken the caffeine pills hidden in your medicine cabinet, conveniently next to the sleeping pills, but those make you jittery. And when you're testifying, you'd rather be tired. Jittery makes you look like you're nervous, like you've got something to hide.

And sure enough, you hear about it in the car, but at this point (it's nearly five in the afternoon) he's more amused than concerned, and you're half-tempted to tell him that you're tired because of mind-blowing sex, because the look on his face would be worth the lie. Instead you just shrug, and when he turns on the radio (half the stations are hip-hop, the other half are classic rock) you lose yourself in the music.

Next thing you know, Booth is nudging your shoulder and telling you to wake up, and you open your eyes to discover that you're in front of your condo. You grab your bag and tell Booth goodnight, and he says he'll pick you up in the morning. You stumble into your living room with the single-minded intention of brushing your teeth and heading straight to bed, thinking that the makeup can stay on for one night and that food can wait till morning. You're still full from the pizza Booth bought you for lunch anyway.

And you carefully hang up your court suit (dry cleaning bills are a bitch) and brush your teeth and run a comb through your hair before collapsing into bed, and you're thinking about the lecture you're giving next week and Zack's upcoming evaluation, and wondering if Booth would have believed you about the mind-blowing sex ….


End file.
